Well, when you begin to think back on events in your life you quickly notice that some of them just seem to jump off the page at you. Hunting has always been a big part of my life up to about 1990. Photography had almost taken over the hunting because it still got me out into the wilderness and away from the big towns and hoards of people. There were so many hunting trips that come to mind over the years with many of those having some kind of special event associated with it. For many years I had a hunting camp that was somewhat permanent. This was in a Florida Wildlife Management Area called JD Corbett. JDC was just outside Jupiter, between it and Lake O. The reason that I called my camp semi-permanent was because of my repour with the wildlife officers there. I would go up there before the season opened towing my swamp buggy on its trailer. Once I arrived at the main check station and entrance gate, I then would take the trailer off the truck and put it on the buggy. This allowed me to really load up the trailer with supplies to prepare my hunting camp for the year. We added stuff every year to make it more at home. We sunk a well for water and mounted a water barrel up in a tree to shower with. We had 2x4 beams tied to the trees to make tables for cooking. I even procured my parent's 8 ft long cypress picnic table. Nothing was permanently nailed into the trees. We even had a horse corral for one of the guys that brought this horse up there. We dug a pit for an outhouse, which we filled in at the end of the year.
One of the rules for having a remote hunting camp was to have your name on your camp and register it at the check station. This is so that the wildlife officers could identify you and your camp. I would go up in typically start the first part of August and stay a week setting up my camp for the next 8 months. August was when archery season opened and March was Spring Gobbler (turkey) season. So you could occupy your camp that entire time. I would set up the trailer on concrete blocks and put my tent on top of it. I would take a lawnmower and mow the grass areas around and in the camp area. I went out with the buggy and dragged in a couple of dead trees for firewood. Those generally lasted the entire season. During the dry season, you could drive your family car to my camp. My Dad drove his mustang and went to work in Palm Beach and would drive back that evening in time to hunt. When that white sugar sand gets soft, it gets a bit dicey for the old family wagon. We had had to pull Dad and ole Uncle Martin out a couple of times. I probably used that hunting camp more for the pleasure of getting out of dodge for some peace and quiet for the weekends. I could really care less if I ever killed anything or not. It just made no never mind.
Now, this was basically a hunting camp from the time I first set it up in 1963 until 1975, and we did hunt a lot there. We went almost every weekend and on occasion would spend a week there or at least some extended long weekends. It was over an hour's drive from my house in Miami to the main gate. I would leave my buggy parked at the gate and when I arrived I would unload supplies from the car and then drive back to the camp Friday night. The main gate was opened until 9 pm so there was a bit of a rush to make it after work. So back then I was not into photography... that came along around 1977. In 1975 or thereabouts was about the same time the Florida Game and Fish Commission decided to centralize all camping and so I lost my hunting camp. I did not like having to camp with 25 feet of another group of hunters and dogs barking all night long...just too much commotion for me. For me, my old hunting camp was an escape to the wilderness. It took nearly an hour to drive back to my camp from the main gate and there were no other camps in my area. It was peace and quiet for the entire weekend, that was unless I had some hunters staying with me. After arriving Friday night I would set up a pot of coffee right away and then start a campfire, which burned the entire weekend as did the coffee. When I mentioned that my camp was semi-permanent, by that I meant that the coffee pot was always on the stove on low. I would make coffee before heading out to hunt and remake that same pot just adding water additional coffee grounds to what was already there. The wildlife officers knew I had coffee going all the time and they were told anytime you want a cup of coffee just drop in. If I'm out hunting help yourselves. They appreciated that and did whatever they could to keep me happy at this camp.
So after the time that centralized camping was mandatory, I only hunted maybe a couple of weekends and had wife my wife along on both trips. On one weekend alone I had a bullet whiz past me much too close for comfort. That event was late in the afternoon and I had just got out of my jeep and had not walked 20 feet when I heard a rifle shot ring out and that distinctive sound of a very loud bumblebee go past my head. On the next hunting trip a couple of weeks later I was out early one morning walking along a game trail when I heard a shotgun go off... they have a very distinctive sound. I then heard buckshot bounce off the path in from and behind me. How I was not hit that morning was beyond me. I guess my Guardian Angel was working overtime. I hollered out, "what the Hell are you shooting at", as whoever fired was very closeby. I heard a couple of voices laughing and one of them said, "OH, he was just clearing his gun". Now I was carrying an old WW2 military 30 caliber semi-automatic M1 rifle with a 30 round magazine. It was all I could do to not raise my rifle up and fire off about 10 rounds just over the top of their heads, but I restrained myself that morning. I certainly had enough firepower with me with an extra 30 round mag for any firefight that these guys wished to engage in.
One of the hunters that used to come out with me was my cousin Eugene. If you read the story about filling my uncle's boat with goliath grouper until he said "STOP"...this was one of his boys. A few times Eugene would bring one of his high school buddies with him. We called him Paul D. Now ole Paul was a good kid, always meaning well and I never had any problems with him ever. Very polite and di whatever I told him to do around the camp. Well, Ole Paul managed to buy this old WWII military jeep. He began to fix it up for hunting and it worked really well, as long as you stayed on the established trails. Sometimes in the middle of the day just for some fun, we used to play a county game of "follow the leader" with our jeeps and buggies. One day I was well ahead of everybody and so I decided to play a joke on Paul. There was this small shallow canal about 3 foot deep that bordered the main road heading towards my camp. There was a crossing that everyone used and it was beaten down pretty good and shallow...maybe 12 inches deep. So I backed up about 100 feet and began to cross over the canal and stopped short of the deep water and then backed up and drove around to the normal shallow crossing and got on the other side. Then I drove down to where my tire tracks were on the opposite bank and turn around and backed down to the water to make it appear that I made the crossing there and waited. Ole Paul came along about 10 minutes later. I'm still down in the water and I said common I made it so you should be able to cross as well, knowing full well that the water was deep in the center and well over the inside floor of his jeep and up to his seat. He was reluctant at first but I kept goated him on. I pulled back up on top of the bank to give him room to come thru. Well, ole Paul being the gaming guy he was started down the slope but didn't keep up his momentum when he got into the water and bogged down big time. Right there in the middle of the canal sat Paul and his yellow jeep with water right up to his ass. The rest of the group came along and said what in the hell were you thinking Paul? We had a bigger buggy come up with a lot of horsepower and a 30-foot snatch rope. He backed up and got to the edge of the slope, hooked up to Paul's jeep. He left about 10 feet of slack and hit the gas and his buggy nearly jumped off the ground but snatched that bright yellow jeep right out of the water and dragged him back up the slope of the canal. I really thought that the jeep's chassis and front end everything attached to it was going to stay right there in that canal. I think ole Paul had whip-lash from that one. I finally admitted to the hoax and Paul said I'll get you back. However, there was probably nowhere out there that my buggy would not make it through. My gearing was so low due in part to having 2 transmissions and a 1-ton truck differential with welded locked up gears. I have put that buggy's front steel pipe bumper up against a big pine tree and put both transmissions in low gear, let out the clutch, and get off the buggy. It would just sit there in idle with those big 4-foot tall x 20 inch wide rear tires and walk itself completely around that tree. On hard ground, I would do the same and get off and you could hear each of the four cylinders fire off and you could walk at a leisurely pace alongside and still be ahead of that buggy. To say it was geared slow was an understatement.
One of our trips was on the opening weekend of the regular gun hunting season... I forgot the date. The camp was filled up with relatives of one kind or another. We had my Dad, Uncle Martin (Eugene's dad) Eugene, Paul D. Doug (my best friend that I grew up with), and a couple of Eugene's high school buddies. Eugene had this old Volkswagon bus that he cut out the wheel wells put larger tires on the back with chains to get thru the deep sand and the water in the wet season, it would go thru some pretty deep water as long as you didn't stop. You could hear that thing coming from quite a way off as those chains have a noise all their own. So it's 5 am and I load up one of my hog dogs in the dog box of my buggy and I had my Dad and Uncle Martin sit up in the top seat, and Doug was next to me. We (I) decided that I would drop off everyone at different locations and would come back later that morning and pick them up on the way back to camp. After I got everyone in their hunting location, I drove down about a 1/4 mile and backed my buggy into some bushes to get it out of sight and unload the dog, and grabbed my 30-30 rifle. I didn't have to go very far when I heard my dog barking as he took off immediately. He was in the middle of a wet cypress swamp just barking and not moving any. So I figured he has a hog cornered and I started to walk in to see what he was barking at when this hog comes out about 25 yards away. I dropped him like a sack of potatoes with that 30-30. The dog is still barking and not moving. So now I'm thinking he still has a hog cornered up in there. I ease in to see what he is barking at and I see the dog looking up into a tree...he has a raccoon treed??? What a hog dog this one turned out to be. Everyone I dropped off could hear all of the commotion and my gunshot. All of this only took about 15 minutes from the time I dropped everyone off. My buddy, Doug walks up and said you son-of-a-bitch... it only took you 15 minutes to kill a hog and you leave us behind and go to your hot spot. So we load up the hog and the coon dog. Doug and I still hunted a bit as it was just barely enough daylight to see well. I could hear other dogs barking and the sound of hogs squealing nearby but I already had my hog and I knew that the dog's owner would not be too far behind....so we left that one along. Not much else happened the rest of that morning so Doug and I walked back to the buggy and went back to pick up the others and headed back to camp.
On the same opening day of hunting, Paul D. was driving his jeep thru a swamp that was directly behind my camp and he said he could see our tents when a deer steps out in front of him and just stands there. So Paul shoots him, all with an hour of sunrise. We had a good morning as one of the other hunters also shot a hog. Now Paul D. wears these really thick glasses and I was surprised that he could even see that deer, let alone shoot him dead.
So most of this story is setting the stage for the real story and the title above. It's just one of those you stories and experiences that you won't ever forget in your lifetime. We were on a special 3-day hog hunt at another Wildlife Management Area that the State of Florida leases the hunting rights from the farmer/landowner. It was after the regular hunting season closed in South Florida which was around the first of the year back then. So on this trip, I went with a co-worker friend's son, Art. Doug drove himself, Paul D. and my cousin Eugene. This was a centralized camp area and quite small at that. There was maybe 20 feet between the tents. On the afternoon hunt, of the first day, there was Art, Doug, Paul D., Eugene, and myself all piled up in Art's 4x4 Scout. We arrived at where we were going to hunt, and we all scattered out in pairs of two but we knew where everyone was supposed to be and the direction that we all agreed on. It was a walk, stalk, and stop hunt with shotguns only. Doug and I were together about 30 feet apart and about 40 yards from Art and Paul D. Eugene was by himself at the end of the line. The plan was we would make a 1/4 mile sweep into the woods and then reverse back to the vehicle. It was getting really dark and Doug and I were slowly making our way back to the vehicle when a shot ran out. I knew it had to be someone in our group. So we got to the vehicle and everyone was there. I said who shot...and Paul D. broke out in tears sobbing, and I thought what the Hell?? Art never said a word as we drove back to camp. Paul was still crying his eye out and I asked OK what the hell is going on. Art said Paul shot a calf. "WHAT" I blurted out. Art watched Paul D. from about 20 feet away as he kept raising his gun up and then back down and leaning forward eye-straining and then boom... he shot. They both walked over to what Paul thought was going to be a big black hog. However, that was not the case as it was a big black calf and he was very dead. We were the only ones in this area so we all decided it would be best just to not say anything to anyone about what had happened unless the game management people came in.
Paul D. didn't eat dinner that night... he just sat by himself around the campfire. Later we were all sitting around the fire, it was about 10 pm... everything was quiet. No one was saying a word and even the campers around us were quiet just looking into the flames of their campfires. It was about at that point in time when Doug very loudly made a mooing sound and Paul D. just erupted into tears and went to his tent. Everyone in our camp knew what was going on and I suspect even a couple of the other campers had an idea as well. About an hour later, everything is totally quiet again. Doug gets out of his chair, stands there for a few seconds, and with a very resounding voice again said "OK...Who do I owe blow jobs to?? The entire camping area all around us erupted in heavy belly laughter. I felt sorry for the guy with the 2 teenage daughters next to us, as they were laughing as well. It was just one of those absolute moments in time that I will never forget. The timing of that was just perfect. Doug...may you rest in peace, my friend.
So the remainder of that weekend we quietly walked around softly mooing whenever Paul was around. The next night I said to Paul... maybe you might want to sleep up in that tree tonight just in case momma cow comes looking for you... he broke down again. None of us shot anything on that hunt, other than Paul D. The next hunting season someone found a set of playing cards that had all of the farm animals on the backside. We used to tease Paul by showing him the cards and said maybe you need to keep these in your pocket for proper ID before you pull the trigger next time.
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